Rosie Roti

give us today our daily bread and circuses

Apr 12

“So long as I confine my activities to social service and the blind, they compliment me extravagantly, calling me ‘arch priestess of the sightless,’ ‘wonder woman,’ and a ‘modern miracle.’ But when it comes to a discussion of poverty, and I maintain that it is the result of wrong economics—that the industrial system under which we live is at the root of much of the physical deafness and blindness in the world—that is a different matter! It is laudable to give aid to the handicapped. Superficial charities make smooth the way of the prosperous; but to advocate that all human beings should have leisure and comfort, the decencies and refinements of life, is a Utopian dream, and one who seriously contemplates its realization indeed must be deaf, dumb, and blind.” Helen Keller (letter to Senator Robert La Follette, 1924)

(via cimness)


Apr 10

"I swear to god, Steve, I will drop the PASIV out of this fucking window if you don’t tell me RIGHT NOW why you thought taking this goddamn job was a good idea, what with Bucky running around in our heads trying to shoot us out of our dreams."

"Can’t you feel it, Clint? You’re antsy. We’re all antsy. We’ve been the best dreamshare team there is out there since Cobb’s disbanded, and we haven’t gone under in over a year."

Avengers Inception AU  wherein Thor of Odin Corp. hires Steve Rogers’ elite dreamsharing team to perform inception on his brother, Loki, and a shade of their ex-resident thief Bucky (who was killed when the team’s last job went horribly wrong) tries his best to sabotage it.

Or: Steve extracts, Tony builds, Clint runs point, Natasha’s a master of impersonation, Bruce concocts, Thor’s a tourist, and things happen.

smartest crossover i’ve seen this year.

(via augustbird)


Apr 9
fantagraphics:

kettle-o-fish:

From Ode to Lumpy, Pout Melody (animation by Lilli Carré, sound by Alexander Stewart). Drawn on 20 pieces of paper. The full film with sound can be viewed here.

Lilli Carré

fantagraphics:

kettle-o-fish:

From Ode to Lumpy, Pout Melody (animation by Lilli Carré, sound by Alexander Stewart). Drawn on 20 pieces of paper. The full film with sound can be viewed here.

Lilli Carré

(via schemingreader)


Apr 8
coltonwestdance:

shinebrightlikeasveta:


Svetlana Zakharova [and Roberto Bolle] in Giselle

#SvetaOut

au revoir motherfucker 

coltonwestdance:

shinebrightlikeasveta:

Svetlana Zakharova [and Roberto Bolle] in Giselle

#SvetaOut

au revoir motherfucker 

(via theballetblog)


Apr 7

Apr 5
thedirtythirties:

Katharine Hepburn photographed by George Hurrell, 1937.

thedirtythirties:

Katharine Hepburn photographed by George Hurrell, 1937.


Apr 3

45F

purisubzi:

It is 5.15AM. Grubby eyed and dishevelled, I look around the Afzalgunj bus stand. Sleepy passengers, early commuters and the homeless bunch around in small groups. There’s a faint whiff of the stench that the Musi is famous for. I head out of the bus stand and on the road leading to a bridge across the river. A few hundred metres later, across a ghostly traffic signal, I spot the familiar neon sign of Basra Hotel. I walk in – the interiors are just the same as they were years ago, dirty and yellowing with tables that were new decades ago. The walls have a patina of a brown grease. The owner sits at one of the tables, stroking his not so magnificent beard and swatting a fly that flies dangerously close to his mouth. From inside the tiny kitchen at the back of the place, I can smell the heavenly tea that Hotel Basra is known for. I order one. And a plate of keema samosas.

I am in Hyderabad.

****

Bus No. 45F is belching smoke as we lurch through the dimly lit streets around Kachiguda. The lanes of Nimboliadda are even quieter than usual, empty pushcarts lined up and garbage piled up at the end of each. I hope that since this is the bus’ first trip, it might make an exception and pick up passengers at the railway station, but it doesn’t. I am content to merely observe the bright lights of the roundabout that precedes the magnificent white building. Tightly spaced buildings of Narayanguda come and go, each filled with students cramming various equations and formulae. EAMCET Factory. Speeding across the RTC ‘X’ Roads, with its empty cinema theatres is a thrill. Post 7AM this usually turns into a nightmare. Musheerabad with its busy Irani cafes and the devout streaming into mosques for prayer. Kavadiguda with its narrow main roads, rusting garages and small industries. Crossing up from the Bible House and onto Kingsway and the hundreds of shops selling hardware, electricals and other things one doesn’t normally think of. The staid, yet proud building of the Secunderabad Post Office at Patny. The smelly MCH swimming pool and then past Paradise circle and Yatri Nivas. Shyamlal Building and Begumpet. Sheeshmahal and Ameerpet.

****

It feels strange this morning. There’s a warmth in the heart, but it feels somewhat unwelcome. I hadn’t been to Hyderabad and travelled on its roads for more than 3 years. I had made a big deal of moving out. Of moving on. Of letting go. I was determined during this brief layover not to get drawn in by the seductiveness of the familiar. The comfort of a geographical blanket. Yet, here I am.

It feels like your first love is inching back into your life and demanding friendship and space. Like a first love, this city knows how to push my buttons. It does so with fearlessly knowing that I’ll give up. It does so knowing that I’ll cry my guts out. It know that no matter how much I’ve moved on, there’s a tiny, tiny part of my heart that beats exclusively for it.

3 years, I stopped calling it home and was determined not to come back and call it that again. It’s taken me all of 3 hours to change my mind.


Mar 29
“Now, the following little matter may seem to you trivial but it bothers me. I suspect the phrase “Mr. Nabokov is a second Pasternak” is a reporter’s distortion. It might be correct to say, perhaps, as some have been doing that Pasternak is the best Soviet poet, and that Nabokov is the best Russian prose writer but there the parallel ends; so just to prevent any well-meaning publicity from taking the wrong turn, I would like to voice my objection to DOCTOR ZHIVAGO—which may brim with human interest but is wretched art and platitudinous thought. Its political aspects do not interest me; I can only be concerned with the artistic character of this or that novel. From this point of view ZHIVAGO is a sorry thing, clumsy, melodramatic, with stock situations and trite characters. Here and there a landscape or metaphor recalls Pasternak the gifted poet but that is not sufficient to save the novel from the provincial banality, so typical of Soviet literature during the past forty years.”

nabokov to george wiedenfeld, deploring a critical comparison with boris pasternak.

#trollbokov


anathemadelight:

The Grandmaster (2013)


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